


Blueshift

by Sunlocke



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Demisexual Mettaton, Grey-Asexual Sans, I write my own puns, M/M, Trans Mettaton
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-11-14 14:31:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11210007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunlocke/pseuds/Sunlocke
Summary: Mettasans is my ship. Less consequential fics I'll gather here. Some human AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Human AU. Mettaton can't sleep. Sans helps.

It’s 4 AM, and he can’t sleep. Mettaton’s eye has long since adjusted to the dark, and he watches his shadows toss restlessly as he writhes around the point on his spine that’s stuck on the mattress. Somewhere he’s aware he’s being a terrible bedmate, but it’s not like stopping is an option. Suddenly the single black sheet that still covers him is too constrictive, and he throws it off in one move, sitting up and swinging what’s left of his legs towards the edge of the bed. He reaches for his socks without thinking when he hears Sans shift, letting out a deep breath that manifests in a groan.

“hey. you okay?” One of Sans’s small hands pat the bed in his direction, looking for him, though the other man is still determined to keep his eyes closed yet.

Mettaton lets out a breath quietly, making himself aware of the ripple in his torso and shift of the hair hanging over his face. “Fine. I just have… dandelions in my head.”

“alright. just checking.” Neither of them adds anything, sitting in silence as even Mettaton has ceased moving again. Sans props himself up on one arm, scrubbing his wrist across his eyes and looking over blearily. “you know, you oughta make wishes on them.”

Mettaton glances back at him finally. It’s a hot night and Sans looks kind of gross right now. He probably does too. “… hah. I’d rather wait for a shooting star.” He glances over at the window, through which he can see an indigo sliver of sky. He’s not really inspired to move so much, just for that. “Yeah, now that I sat up I feel terrible. I think I’ll just lie on the floor for a minute.” Mettaton is aware of a sharp pain in his gut now, twisting up inside him. It’s not as subtle as the unease he feels from stress. Maybe, as long as it’s not what he hopes it isn’t, a flat surface might be able to work it out.

He manages carefully down to the floor and lies down on his back, looking up at the seemingly random pattern of light and shadow on the ceiling, but his view is interrupted as Sans hangs his head over the edge of the bed, looking right back down at him. “What?”

“nothing.”

This can’t be how normal people have a conversation at this time of morning, Mettaton thinks. This is the kind of bad writing he’ll vomit to meet a deadline, but here they are. Sans could’ve pulled him down again before he even got out of bed, and they’d kiss even though the thought of touching skin right now is unappealing, until they fell back asleep. That’s how it works for other people, isn’t it? He doesn’t even know what this is. What they are. Another thought to cloud his mind. His face feels sticky, and he pushes his hair back. He just wants to take a shower now.

“how long has it been since you slept?”

He could get irritated about the question, but it’s not worth it. This is… an expression of care for his wellbeing. It’s actually nice, but can’t Sans just care about him without bugging him? “Not long.” Mettaton glances at the alarm clock on the dresser, squinting at the green display. His eyelid feels bound with elastic, it’s too much effort to open fully. “Six to… huh. Maybe 40 hours. I’m going to take a shower. We should call someone about the air conditioning tomorrow.” Maybe talking business will make Sans forget about his answer.

“it _is_ tomorrow, babe.” Mettaton focuses on the stripe of light next to him from the gap in the curtains. “shower can wait too.” He looks back up. Sans has nice eyes. They’re different colors, but just barely. The one on the right is almost as dark as his own. Mettaton decides it reflects light better than the other one, looking almost like stars. He looks tired too, though. “you going to come back to bed or what?”

His stomach doesn’t hurt anymore, and he takes a deep breath just to make sure. One hand draped between his breasts measures his own heartbeat gradually relaxing as he remembers to keep counting. “Yeah.” He grabs the edge of the bed to help himself up, but instead of helping, Sans gets up with a grunt of effort and picks his way over to the window, not that Mettaton lets the room get messy. “What’s that?” he asks, which maybe isn’t the best way to word that question, but it gets through.

“just thought i might be able to lighten things up a little,” Sans replies, pulling the curtains open. Actually, it already feels cooler, and he opens the window. Mettaton takes another purposeful breath. The fresh air carries the muted but not unnoticeable smell of summer nights and the dying hints of someone’s bonfire. The sky is shining with stars and an orange streetlight, blurry in the distance, and beyond even that the white lights of fast food restaurants and 24-hour convenience stores, headlights wandering by even at this hour. Sans is back, sitting on the bed and crawling back up to Mettaton, hands in front of him. He can’t see as well when it’s dim.

“Stop,” Mettaton says when Sans reaches him and tries to pull him back into a restful position with an arm snaked around his waist. “I’m gross now. You don’t want me.”

“yeah i do. you forget i am also gross.” It’s worded like a jest, though completely truthful. He lets go anyways and lays back, Mettaton following willingly a moment later with a hesitant glance at the other man. Sans likes to sleep shirtless when it’s warm. They’d be melted together in a minute. He instead lays himself over top of Sans’s outstretched arm obligingly. Comfortable? Not exactly, but it was something. “ah. yeah. that’s good. i thought it would be nice to see some other stars. maybe take your mind off yourself long enough for you to get to sleep.”

Mettaton snickers dryly and grinds his elbow into San’s stomach. He gets another whisper of a laugh in return.

“'night Metta. love ya.”

“I know,” he sighs as Sans’s head fits into the curve of his arm.

It’s 4:18 AM, and with the stars overhead and a warm weight against him, he might be able to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Human AU. Sans meets Mettaton's pet and learns something new.  
> Maybe skip this chapter if you have a deathly fear of snakes.

Mettaton’s got a nice little place. He’s been on his own for two years and Sans hasn’t been over yet. It’s kind of a surprise when he thinks about it, but hey, he’s there now. Paps was out of town for the weekend, Sans didn’t want to be home alone, and Mettaton called him at just the right time for him to mention it. It’s small and a block from the busiest intersection in town, but that doesn’t make anything less of the place. Pink flowers outside, inside painted and decorated to taste with black furniture. Mettaton knows what he likes and refuses to live in a dump. Basically, his opposite.

“Make yourself at home, and, hmm, ask if you want to use my makeup? That’s all I can think I wouldn’t want you going through,” Mettaton says, waving him inside with a flourish.

“sweet. won’t be a problem. though a makeover could do wonders for me. foundation. coverage. mascara.” He says the words like a foreign language. Sans can’t help but look around. Mettaton’s a mysterious guy. So this is how he lives. Actually has a coffee table. Seems unnecessary to him, but whatever makes the guy happy.

“I might have to give you one then, so you know what you’re talking about,” Mettaton strolls around like he owns the place- he does. Refusing to look over his shoulder, he moves a few stacks of DVD cases and piles of paper around until there is only one, bigger pile of each. Just busywork, Sans can recognize that from a mile away. If Mettaton’s smoking hot body isn’t the first thing you notice about him, it’s probably that he can’t sit still for a second.

“i’m up for it. where can i put my stuff?” Besides some disorganization, the house itself looks too pristine for Sans’s generally greasy self.

Mettaton turns to look at him and his lips raise. “Anywhere? You live here now, for all intents and purposes. If there’s one thing I can do right, I can be gracious. Heck. Take my bed if you want, I can go without.”

Sans winks. Mettaton knows what’s coming. “that’s an in-bed-ibly kind offer, but i’m sure we can share. i don’t take up much room.”

“Sans, that’s-“ Mettaton wags a finger at him, but he’s grinning, and pops his fingertip against Sans’s nose, making him blink. “-you’re ridiculous. It’s not like it’s a big bed. Can you imagine? I’d basically have to spoon you to fit. That would be- oh, that would be utterly disgusting.” His face contorts with exaggerated expressions, and he pulls the words long like he’s saying something silly. Sans doesn’t remember how long he’s known Metta, but there’s something free about their interactions. Mettaton’s thrown away his professionalism.

“oh, sure. but i’d be a sheet-y guest to impose like that. i did basically invite myself, huh….”

“No, I won’t hear it. Seriously. Come see this. My feet already hang off the end.” Mettaton grabs his hand, not that he minds the guy being kind of touchy. He’s very okay with it most of the time, in fact. “And you’ll have to excuse the mess.”

What mess?  Sans has gotta admit, Mettaton is a whole ‘nother breed, but at least he’s always interesting. There’s a lot he still doesn’t know about the other man, though it doesn’t bother him.

Mettaton’s bedroom just comes off the main room, so it’s not a long walk or anything. It’s not bad. Glamorous pink posters on the wall, black and white chevron rug on dark wood floors. It’s a mix of mature and childish, which is just fine because no one is quite sure how old Mettaton is anyways (Sans is pretty sure he’s legal but _whoa there_ he’s not thinking in those terms, just staying over with a lone minor would be weird is all).  There’s a bit more of the ‘recently struck by a tornado’ vibe in here, though it seems to have targeted his desk specifically, scattering papers and pencils. Among that, next to an open and glowing laptop is a big glass fishtank, but without water. Seems big for snails, but what does he know?

“See, this is what I was mattress-ing,” Mettaton says, gesturing to the bed. “That was bad. Ignore me.” Yeah, it’s a single. He can see how it’s a tight fit for six foot fuckin’ unnecessary Mettaton.

“TT, i didn’t see a couch. i’m pretty sure that loveseat out there will fit you even worse than this.” Sans is just being logical.

Mettaton shakes his head, but that doesn’t mean Sans can’t see his eye roll. “Don’t think too hard, darling. I just want you to be comfortable. I won’t take no for an answer.”

To make a brisk explanation, there’s not one of 360 angles to look from where Sans is more stubborn than Mettaton, he’s not going to argue it. Anyways, is it so wrong that he kind of rather would sleep in a bed? Sans is being a lazy ass not wanting to take care of himself all weekend, but that’s kind of his thing.

“you convinced me. so, uh, you gonna introduce me to my roomates if i’m ‘living’ here?” He nods towards the tank, dropping his bag on the floor at the corner of the bed. Sans hasn’t really seen the appeal of snails, but if Mettaton and Toriel are both so fascinated, they must be… cool? “how many snails can you fit in that thing?”

“Huh?” Mettaton tilts his head slightly, eyebrow raising as he’s registering the question. “Oh, no, no. Blooky keeps the snails.” He presses a hand over his heart. “Bless them. No, that’s just Tiffany.” He walks over to the tank and carefully removes the top, bending slightly to reach inside. Sans takes the opportunity to check out his butt, because those pants are tight and why not.

“See, I was supposed to get a pet to learn commitment,” he tilts his head towards the horde of unfinished projects next to him, “but I just don’t have much time, so I had to- well, they’re absolutely adorable anyways.” He’s pulling his hand out and _hey okay that’s not a snail._ Against all odds, it’s even more interesting than Mettaton’s butt.

“Are you scared of snakes? I should’ve asked first.” That’s five feet of muscle and the scariest skeleton inside that Sans ever saw back when he was into anatomy and hey Mettaton is holding it up to his own face, giving Sans an endearing pout.

“My baby wouldn’t hurt anyone, though. Well, besides dead mice. Not like she’ll escape in the middle of the night anyways, I just thought you wanted to see her.”

“nah. wasn’t expecting that from someone like you, but hey, it’s not one of the deadly ones, right?”

“No, of course not. I’d love to have a boa constrictor too, but I don’t think I should have both at once. Might not have room either. Hmm. What did you expect, if you don’t mind me asking?” Oh, the snake is going around his neck. Hopefully not one of the squeeze-y ones.

“i’m not ‘serpent’. i dunno, if not snails, a… a chinchilla? something cute?” Are those things even real? He only now wonders. He’s never seen a chinchilla in real life. Sans weighs if that query is quality enough for a conspiracy theory meme.

“Ha, as if.” Mettaton steps towards him. Sans isn’t afraid of snakes, but they aren’t on his list of priorities either. “You have to hold her. Until you think she’s the cutest pet you’ve ever seen.”

“hey now, i can’t go cheating on my dog like that.” He holds out his hands anyway. “how’m I supposed to…”

Mettaton sets the python in his hands carefully. “She’s just going to explore, probably. She’s not dangerous.” The snake wraps around Sans’s arms and starts a journey towards his left shoulder. It feels funny, but there’s nothing to be scared of.

Sans’s isn’t scared, but he still holds his hands out stiffly, frowning a little because he’s not sure what to do now. The snake – Tiffany? – stretches up, and he closes his eyes when she comes towards his face, then opens them again. She’s… kinda cute. Not his thing really, he likes the more pettable pets, but she has a nice face.

Tiffany baps her snout gently against his chin, and oddly reminds Sans of her owner. “hey. what’s up?” he asks, yes, he talks to the snake, out of lack of anything else to do. Mettaton has just been watching, but he lights up.

“She’s chosen you,” he says, and Sans looks up at him with a half grin. “Now we must be wed at once.”

Did he hear that right? Mettaton didn’t seem like the marrying type. “wait, what? don’t be so hiss-ty. that would be a huge mi-snake.”

“Stop,” Mettaton whispers through a soft giggle.

“at least let me take you to dinner first, babe.” The last word is accented with a wink. He gets the joke, but, hmm. It would make sense to marry someone your pet likes and where is he going with this again? Sans runs his finger between the weird bumps on the snake’s head. What a funny little animal. Eccentric, but not bad. It reminds him of someone. He looks up again.

“Name the time and place, darling,” Mettaton winks right back at him and hey wait he’s supposed to be the one making jokes. The taller man picks the snake back up after Sans endures another few moments of awkward stiffness, cuddling the odd pet and tracing her patterns, cooing over his baby Tiffany. Sans doesn’t get to see this soft side of him often. The only other times were when Mettaton was with his cousins, and oh, there’s a lot this town doesn’t know about its local celebrity, but Sans likes to think he’s closer than most, and he’s still learning. Something about that makes him feel… hopeful.

“we have the whole weekend,” he says softly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mettaton can't keep personal relationships. He needs help. But all he has is Sans. Guess that'll have to do.  
> Mettaton is emotional and has problems.

Mettaton is lying on his back when Sans walks into his living room, settled prone and looking like he’d fit neatly in a chalk outline with his eyes closed. He might just be in one of his artistic moods, or actually dead. Mettaton won’t dust, so it’s hard to tell. He should probably check.

“heyyyy, Mettababe. you okay?”

“besides the fact that my brain is a huge shitstorm with no off switch?” Mettaton moans, raising one hand limply from the floor and letting it drop with a thump. “still no.”

Sans wanders over and lies down on top of him. Mettaton is always warm and everything besides the heart-shaped battery in his middle is soft, so he’s asking for it just lying there. Sans is as worried as he has the energy to be. He hasn’t heard Mettaton speak in lowers for a… well, for a while now. _Never_ heard it from _Mettaton_ , technically. He had a different name back then, so this must be really bad... or MTT finally likes him enough to drop the perfect act.

“thanks. that really helps, darling.”

“anytime. you want to talk about it?” Sans asks, settling his zygomatic bone comfortably against Mettaton’s chest piece. It’s warm against his face, and he melts into the whir and grind that makes up the robot’s heartbeat, so to speak. Immediately his own internal pace picks up to match.

“no.”

“okay.”

Mettaton lifts his head up and stares at the skeleton.

“what?”

“Now you’re supposed to ask more questions until I open up.” And there’s his tone rising up into sentence case, but Sans isn’t sure that’s a good thing.

He shrugs. “alright, sorry. but you did say-“

“I say things I don’t mean. You know that.”

The corners of Sans’s smile flatten slightly. “…right. i’ll just read your mind next time.”  It comes out harsher than he means to. Sans doesn’t even like sarcasm, but he hates it more when Mettaton gets like this. No, he gets it. He has bad days too, just, why do they have to be so much more obnoxious coming from Mettaton?

“Help or leave. I don’t need this right now.” The celebrity raises his hand again with his eyes closed and points in turn to the stack of projects on his table, and then the door. Sans’s weight lifts off of him slowly and he hears movement.

Mettaton tilts his head up again, dragging himself up to his elbows and staring at Sans. “Don’t actually leave. Please.”

“wasn’t gonna. what is all this crap?” he asks, picking up a thick stack of paper with six busted staples in the corner. He takes one look at the mixed legal language and business jargon and can feel his eyes glazing over.

“Work. Just pick something and throw it at my face, will you? I need to be productive.”

Sans drops the packet back where he found it. Good riddance. “i don’t think so. you’re not working in a mood like this.”

Mettaton flails his arms in the air, but Sans is well aware that he could stretch them all the way over if he really wanted to. “I have to. I don’t have any acceptable reason to feel like this so I’m going to proceed as normal.”

“come on, sit up or i’m going to use your face as a footrest,” Sans threatens idly, flopping down into the couch with a solid whack, the cushions were denser than he expected. “even if it’s no good reason, indulge me in your inner drama. what stirred up the shitstorm this time?”

“Ugh.” The robot sits up, but doesn’t stand to move, just leaning back against the couch next to Sans’s legs. He doesn’t answer.

“never mind. don’t bother. my phone just got a notification- news update, underground celebrity and total babe Mettaton goes on rampage, destroys all of snowdin.”

“Wh-“ Mettaton can’t make it through a whole word before the absurdity makes him giggle. He swats Sans’s ankle.

“can’t be as bad as that, right?”

“You’re horrible.” Mettaton pauses. No response. “Apparently when you’re me it’s possible to fuck up a conversation that badly.”

Yikes. He never swears. Sans circles his fingertips over his eyebrows and glances down at Mettaton. The bot’s as hot as ever but not looking too hot, Sans thinks, like he might be in some kind of trouble.

“Alphys?”

Mettaton sighs. He rubs his wrist across his eyes, momentarily exposing the gaping hole in his face in all its wiry, empty-eyed horror. “If you already knew, why did you ask?”

“just a guess. i’m pretty observant, you know.” Mettaton eyes him up suspiciously. Yep. No one believes that at first. “so what’d you do?”

“I… I guess I just went off on her. We were talking about nothing and I got _mad_. I was so angry, I-I worked my ass off to make this body function and she was goofing off on an anime forum while I have- well, you know!” He waved his right hand by his face. Sans knows what’s under there. “Can’t even give me half an hour to let me charge wirelessly.”

“you get worked up. she understands that. nothing to stress out over like this.” Sans sinks back into the couch. It doesn’t sound as serious as it initially seemed. “all said and done, you two are friends. she’s not your mechanic. at the same time, you aren’t just another project she can put off. i’m sure you apologize and tomorrow you can ask about it politely?”

Mettaton crosses his arms, turns his face away, shuffles his feet, and ultimately lets himself fall forward onto his face like he’s thinking about having a tantrum.

“you apologized, right?”

“NO.” There’s the caps he knows and loves, but it’s all emotion right now. “WHY SHOULD I? I WAS UTTERLY JUSTIFIED.” Mettaton picks at the carpet, working his fingers into the texture. He can’t even feel that finely. His hands feel so blocky.

“Metta- look, i’m not saying you weren’t. but that doesn’t necessarily mean you were right. know what i mean? no, it’s just- you should do it before it’s too late.”

“I CAN’T.”

“yes you can.” It’s exactly like talking to a kid. This is crazy. Sans taps the toe of his slipper against Mettaton’s butt. He probably deserves it right now. “just message her on undernet. she’s always on. you literally have internet access in your brain.”

“WHEN I SAY I CAN’T, I DON’T MEAN THAT I’M NOT PHYSICALLY ABLE TO. I _CAN’T_. AND I AM NOT GOING TO.”

“seriously? you’re an actor. at least pretend to swallow your pride.” It’s not in Sans’s nature to be easily annoyed, but this is a little much, isn’t it? Mettaton is a grown-up, for Pete’s sake… at least, Sans thinks he is. Actually, maybe not. 

“THAT’S NOT IT! YOU DON’T GET IT! OKAY?! I DID SOMETHING SO STUPID NO APOLOGY IS GOING TO FIX IT. I’M SURE ALPHYS DOESN’T WANT TO HEAR FROM ME ANYTIME SOON.” The intended volume of his outburst is muffled by the carpet.

“you’re right. i don’t get it. you at least have one eye, you know? i don’t get how you’re too blind to see that Alphys cares about you more than that.”

There would be one burning glare directed his way right now if Mettaton weren’t face down in the carpet. “YOU’RE _NOT_ GOING TO GIVE ME A SPEECH. I-I CAN’T _DO IT_.” The last phrase catches in his mouth. It’s not what he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how say it.

God. This is what he sounds like to Papyrus, isn’t it. Sans should thank his brother later. “I DON’T WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR FEELING HOW I FEEL. IT’LL JUST HAPPEN AGAIN ANYWAYS. I MIGHT AS WELL JUST LET HER DOWN NOW.”

“you’re making excuses.  just apologize for what you did then.” Mettaton doesn’t respond, lying still. Sans gets to his feet with a grunt. “take care of yourself, MTT. or, you know, at least don’t push away the people who do.” He heads for the door, but turns back to shoot one last grin at the robotic star. “otherwise i’ll have to send Paps over to check on you. and he _will_ feed you his feel better spaghetti.”

Mettaton lifts his face off the floor blearily. “THAT WILL MAKE THINGS WORSE.”

“i know. that was a threat,” Sans teases. “do the right thing, okay?” He turns out the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Underground's media desperately wants Mettaton to be an icon of romance. That's hilarious.

It’s a slow morning and they’re sitting crunched onto the sunken green couch that the skeletons brothers have been lugging around since Sans’s known memory. Mettaton is lying stretched out, doing god knows what on his phone he has for what reason exactly, considering he has the same capabilities himself – Sans is pretty sure it’s just for the cute accessories, even though Mettaton only has a plain black case on it. His legs are tangled up around the small skeleton, plush and cushiony and honestly, Sans has zero complaints.  He’s browsing the news, keeping up with events of the kingdom with the TV quiet in the background. It’s slower than just watching MTT’s news show, but that gets old now that he knows the star so well, especially when the guy’s right there in the flesh.

Some article with a well sized headline and picture, two familiar silhouettes catches his eye. He barely has to skim it before a big grin breaks out across his face, and he elbows Mettaton between the shoulders. “hey, TT.”

The robot looks back at him, lips already raised and teeth showing through. Whatever Sans has to say is probably funny when he’s got a tone like that. “WHAT IS IT?”

“just wanted to say a huge congrats on your engagement to Asgore. i gotta say, i did not see that coming.”

Mettaton jams his gloved hand into his mouth to stop himself from snorting with laughter. That came out of nowhere too fast for him to respond gracefully. “LET ME SEE THAT, OH MY GOD,” he demands, snatching Sans’s phone in a flash.

“but i guess Mettaton Dreemurr does have a nice _ring_ to it. hey, you think being a robot and all, you’ll have a good reception?”

Mettaton sits up, drawing his legs out from around Sans, the skeleton nearly disappearing into the worn cushion as he falls. He scrolls through the article, chuckling.

“i can’t believe Alphys never told me she was building you as his replacement spouse,” Sans goes on, leaning in to read the accusation along with Mettaton. “just out of curiosity, what _is_ going on in that picture? looks a little-“

“OH NO!” Mettaton covers his mouth with his hand, looking shocked. He passes the phone back, shaking, and Sans is pretty sure it’s from laughter.

He waits to see what comes next, but Mettaton just wiggles his eyebrows at him. “…shoot, i’m intrigued. what is it?”

“YOU REMINDED ME! JUST THIS MORNING I FOUND OUT THAT I’VE BEEN IN A POLY ROMANCE WITH ALPHYS AND UNDYNE FOR YEARS, WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO TELL THEM?”

“guess you’d better a-poly-gize.”

“NO.” Mettaton swats him on the arm.

“hey, really, you’d make a great king. he _is_ available…”

“NOOOOOO. STOP.”

“i guess you’re more suited to be a drama queen.”

“I’LL HAVE YOU EXILED.”

“you love me too much.”

Mettaton relaxes into the couch once again, even as it jingles with loose change under him, and Sans leans back, relaxing into him.

“LOOK UP MORE, DARLING,” the celebrity urges, pointing at his phone screen. It’s a lazy morning, and he has nothing better to do than oblige.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scraps from the genocide route

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this a while ago. Figured this was the best place to put it.

Mettaton stands before him, looking like anyone else could only hope to in the face of death, serene. god, he’s stunning and now he’s terrifying in the same breath. his form huge and standing tall, could break through the ceiling of a lesser building. his exposed SOUL on his chest, the size of his splayed hand and pulsing with blinding white light like a heartbeat, contrasting with the whir of black machinery in his joints and face. Sans takes the sight in in pieces and none of it means anything. NEO is shoddy, some slapped together project built years ago loaded with prototype weapons that didn’t do anything back then and don’t do anything now. even if they did, it’s too late. the kid or whatever it is now is on its way here and whatever comes out of his mouth next is just one more version of a goodbye he’s sure he’s said before. he knows Mettaton – Mettaton isn’t stupid, they both know he won’t be coming back.

“you… you should really stay in your first body, this one is-” if he had a throat it would be dry, the words falter in his mouth and Mettaton does the talking for him.

“I KNOW. BUT I STILL BELIEVE IN HUMANKIND.”  Mettaton smiles, like it’s that simple. maybe for him it is, who chose eventual death with the promise of life, so it might as well be for something. “IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO GO.”

Mettaton is tearing out the camera feeds when he leaves, like there’s any chance they won’t know what’s going on up ahead. well, it’s too late for that.

Sans takes a shortcut to the hall, as if the extra time will give him enough to prepare for the distant explosion that makes his SOUL drop to the floor of the Last Corridor and a room left in silence as limbs slowly char and wide glass eyes grow dim, never close. it comes quicker than last time and he drags himself to his feet, he’s so damn tired but now it’s his turn to impale a kid forty times to try and stop them from getting the world destroyed, heh, well, if no one else is going to do it.

 

Mettaton NEO stands tall, looking calm. he’s beautiful. he’s transfixing. it’s senseless. his SOUL shines on his chest like a beacon, capturing Sans’s gaze. he’s packed with weapons and spikes where no one needs them and they won’t do him any good anyways, it’s nothing but a bluff. Alphys wanted to do something, an update, anything, but she’s busy flying down into the True Lab with monsters in tow and that’s a priority. it’s too late and nothing Mettaton can do will make a difference except buying time. Sans knows it. they both know it.

“you… you should really stay in your first body, this one is-” Sans feels like this won’t help at all. he’s wasting both of their time saying this.

“I THINK YOU ALREADY KNOW WHY I CAN’T,” Mettaton says, and his smile looks sadder than it should… it doesn’t suit him. “IT’S ABOUT TIME FOR YOU TO GO.”

the human is approaching and he can’t say anything. there’s nothing more to say. he casts for words feebly. “MTT, can you promise me something?”

“I DON’T REALLY DO PROMISES, BUT, HMM.” his gaze is distracted by the screen, the human or whatever lurching forwards with growing confidence, dusty powder coating their hands, caked under their nails and flecking their hair. Mettaton looks back down at him and nods, his smile lifting just a little. this feels like a dream, like something unreal, just playing into one of Mettaton’s movie scripts and next month they’ll watch it together and pause every three seconds to make fun of each other’s faces, but it’s not. “SINCE THE OFFER SEEMS TO EXPIRE IMMINENTLY, I’LL SEE WHAT I CAN DO.”

“don’t die.”

and Undyne gathers her Determination from the hopes and dreams of every monster, but Mettaton, Mettaton is made of matter before magic, he’s the closest thing to human the underground has got and Sans has no idea what he could do when push comes to shove. it really seems like there’d be no better time to find out than now. the robotic star laughs because how else is he supposed to, how else can he respond? but the sound cracks and dies because it’s not funny and Sans sees the truth as well as Mettaton tries to hide it;

Mettaton is scared.   

“INSTEAD OF GOODBYE, MAYBE A SEE YOU LATER WILL SUFFICE.”

Sans lets time and space wrap around him and his bones tap against the gold tiled floor. it’s not long before he hears the explosion in the distance. he can feel it in his feet and in his SOUL and unbidden images come to mind of what Mettaton might look like burnt and in pieces. it feels pointless but someone has to skewer this kid through the stomach a couple times. he can’t afford to not care anymore.

 

“don’t die.”

Mettaton doesn’t laugh. it’s not funny. it wasn’t meant to be. the robot’s expression settles into a hard line, is this the beginning of Determination? pathetic. it won’t change a thing. it won’t change a thing and he wants to give up already, take Mettaton’s place in that dark, unforgiving room and leave it to the star to fight and try to save the world. that’s hopeless too, but Mettaton has always been stronger, holding himself the underground’s shining ray of hope through his iron will and resolve, maybe he can… do at least something more. but that’s stupid. there’s no way out.

the vermillion cape hung around his shoulders doesn’t make him feel brave.

“WE’LL SEE.”

they don’t have the time to indulge each other with idle comfort like this, but he’s not ready to say goodbye. Sans steps towards him, and Mettaton raises his good hand to hold his skull, thumb swiping gently along his cheekbone, and he can’t help but lean into it. “you wanna know a secret?”

Mettaton doesn’t have to respond. it’s hard enough to come up with words when he feels like he’s choking. “you… uh, you mean a metta- _ton_ to me.”

Mettaton smiles and leans in to kiss the top of his skull, but NEO wasn’t built for love, he was built for war, and his lips are hard and cold. his entire body feels numb and faraway.

“YOU SHOULD JOIN ALPHYS IN THE LAB, SANS. IT’S OKAY.”

it’s not okay. it won’t be. before night falls Mettaton will be in pieces and the heart shaped window in his armor will be empty of that shining soul, and Sans’ll be a heap of dust like ashes on the gold tiles, the last scrap of Papyrus he clung to melting away with him.

he can’t even lie that it will be. “…later, MTT.”

Sans barely feels the pain as his bones jostle against the floor of the last corridor. he’s felt it before and he gives in to the ache, he can’t even summon the will to get to his feet. it’s fitting that his SOUL nearly presses the floor through his ribs. nothing will stop him from feeling it when the mountain they’re all dying under shakes with the death of its star. he waits soundlessly for the rumble of the distant explosion and it

 

 

 


End file.
